Faster Than the Speed of Love
by Feygan
Summary: Draco's veela heritage was forcibly induced by Lord Voldemort, which was bad enough. Then things got worse... before somehow getting better. Time travel. Slash. Soulmates. Draco Malfoy/Charlus Potter.
1. Chapter 1

Title: Faster Than the Speed of Love  
Author: Feygan  
Fandom: Harry Potter  
Rating: NC-17  
Pairing: Draco Malfoy/Charlus Potter, Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy/Voldemort  
Warnings: non-con, character death  
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter books, movies, or the characters therein.

Summary: Draco's veela heritage is forcibly induced, which was bad enough. Then things got worse.

.

CHAPTER ONE

There hadn't been any veela in the Malfoy family for a good ten generations.

Until him.

The blood should have run pretty thin, but leave it to the Dark Lord to squeeze what was there until this happened.

Draco couldn't have even said how it was done. He'd been unconscious in his cell after a rousing round of torture, and when he woke up... he was chained to the floor in the middle of a rune circle and he wasn't entirely human anymore.

It was usually the kind of thing that happened to Potter. Only Potter had been killed months ago, so Draco figured it was a Malfoy's turn.

"You certainly are beautiful." Draco refused to flinch as those spidery fingers gripped his chin, turning his face this way and that. "I wonder what Potter would say if he saw you now. Would he appreciate you for your beauty, or would he hate you for the beast blood running through your veins?"

Draco clenched his teeth and kept his eyes firmly focused on the wall across from him.

He couldn't hold back his gasp at the brutal backhand that struck his cheek. "Pay attention, boy!" Voldemort snarled.

Draco looked at that nightmare face. His every newfound creature instinct screamed at him to flee from the reek of mouldering death, but there was nowhere he could go.

The Death Eaters had dragged him from the rune circle and forced him to bathe in cruelly frigid water. They'd made him dress in a woman's robes and brought him here to Voldemort's private chamber. And the whole time there had been much delight had in fantasizing about his future as the Dark Lord's catamite. Macnair had even laughingly suggested the removal of his testicles so Draco would make a better woman. There hadn't been time as the Dark Lord was waiting, but there was always tomorrow...

Draco shivered and couldn't stop the way his teeth chattered together uncontrollably. He was naked beneath the flimsy robe and the Dark Lord was looming over him, fondling his exposed flesh.

This was not the way his life was supposed to go. But the Light side was defeated and he didn't even have his father to protect him from the other Death Eaters anymore.

Lucius had been killed in a raid. And even though he'd basically said "Good riddance to bad rubbish" at the time, he could wish for his father's protection right now.

"You're so pretty when you're frightened," Voldemort's voice was filled with a cold amusement. "You were beautiful before, but now, dear Draco, you are a true work of art."

Draco trembled as he let himself be pushed backwards on the bed. He squeezed his eyes tight shut and balled his hands into fists over his head as Voldemort pushed up his robe.

Cold fingers fondled his limp flesh with nearly clinical efficiency. And when those hands forced his legs up and one of those fingers was pushed into his reluctant arsehole, he let the tears stream shamelessly from his eyes.

There was no easing of his pain, either by potion or balm. There was just the Dark Lord gripping his thighs with large clawing hands, forcing his legs back and back even as he thrust himself in with no warning and no care. The Dark Lord's hips snapped forward again and again, driving Draco against the mattress.

Draco cried, tears fleeing from his tightly closed eyes at the pain, but he thought he held himself together pretty well.

It was only when his mind couldn't help picturing the way that cold COLD cock was filling him up that he started to crack. He imagined that snakelike face leering down at him, smirking at the pain jolting through him from his center outward.

Then his insides were flooded with icy sperm. And that's when he finally began to scream and thrash and try to push the monster away. There was a sibilant laugh, then a burst of red light as the stunner struck him in the forehead.

But the horrifying thought followed him down into the darkness.

He had let a dead man fuck him.

.

Draco woke to a sandpapery throat and blood smearing his thighs from his torn arsehole. No one had given him any kind of healing, probably figuring that his newfound creature blood would keep him alive.

He'd been tossed onto the floor of his cell and someone had oh-so thoughtfully flung the woman's robe over his middle. He should have been angry, but pride had been one of the first of the virtues he'd sacrificed to his new circumstances.

He pulled the robe on over his head, grateful even for the rather shear fabric as it offered some protection for his naked flesh. The cell was nearly to freezing and his freakishly alabaster skin was turning blue from cold.

Moving around was painful. His legs were sore from being pushed up and back and his hole radiated agony. But there was nothing he could do about any of that but to simply bear it.

How did this become my life? he wondered. But he knew the answer.

He'd believed all the lies Harry Potter had told him about some kind of bright future. He had wanted so badly to see a world where he could be free to be his own man and make his own choices.

So he had made his first true decision and sided with the side of Light. He'd joined the Order of the Phoenix and vowed to battle the tyranny that Voldemort and his Death Eaters represented.

And look just where that had gotten him. He was the Dark Lord's plaything. It was pathetic.

Draco hobbled over to the dingy cot and carefully sat himself upon it, wincing at the pain. He figured he might as well get used to it.

"And soon they'll geld me like a calf and I can be a eunuch for Emperor Voldemort's court," he said aloud, giggling a little hysterically. He fingered his bollocks for a moment through the cloth of the robe, feeling a slight twinge at the thought of being the last Malfoy. "Nothing I can do about it, though."

He sat there for some interminable time, wondering if they were going to feed him, but really wanting a glass of water. His throat ached abominably.

There was the dull rasp of his prison door opening and he felt his body drawing tight with nerves. He wished he could run away but there was no hope of that happening.

He was shocked when his mother was shoved through, the door shutting tight behind her.

"Mother!" he cried, opening his arms wide to receive her half-hysterical embrace. "You look terrible," and it was true. Her usually impeccable robes had stains at the waist and hem, her skin was sallow and pale, and her hair was in mad disarray.

Other than the blond hair, Narcissa looked remarkably like her sister Bellatrix. Except her eyes were terrible with their utter sanity and anguish. "Oh Draco, what a terrible thing to say." She pushed back far enough away to be able to look him in the face. There was a flash of something when she took in his changed appearance. Even in this filthy cell he gleamed with unnatural beauty.

Draco smiled at his mother. "You look just as though you've had nearly as terrible a time as I have. I am extremely pleased that you are alive, though I could wish you far away from here. Better yet if I could wish us both away."

He saw the way her eyes took in the female robe, the finger marks bruising his arms, and the bloodstains on his bare thighs where his legs poked out from beneath the too-short garment. From the tightening of her lips, he knew she understood what had been done to him.

"Dear Draco, my darling son," she said, "I am hoping to make one of your wishes come true." She clasped his hands in hers, squeezing his fingers tightly before letting go.

"What do you mean?" he asked. "Mother, why did they bring you in here?"

Narcissa smiled shortly. "I bought my passage in to see you with the only coin they would accept."

He took in her disheveled appearance with sudden new understanding. "Oh no, Mother. Oh no."

"Sh," she whispered. "It was the only way they would let me see you. Lucius' memory hasn't done us very much good. I told him the Dark Lord would lead him to ruin, but he refused even the idea of it. Now he's burning in hell and the two of us are left to bear his absence."

Draco wrapped his arms around her. "Oh Mother," that was all he could say. He wanted to tell her that everything would be all right, but they both would know it was a lie. Nothing was going to be all right ever again.

"I should have taken you and fled Britain when we had the chance," Narcissa said. "We could have been safe in France and the war wouldn't have touched us."

"Father would never have let you," he said."

"Fuck your father," she said succinctly. "He chose the Dark Lord over his own family, then he had the gall to die and leave us unprotected.

"I should have taken you and run. You are my little prince, yet that monster wants to treat you like a whore. We should have run away."

He sighed. "We cannot change the past," he said, "no matter how we wish is."

A strange smile quirked her lips. "Ah, but what if you could?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, wondering if the stress had cracked her mind.

Narcissa reached into a concealed pocked in her robes and pulled out a silver chain necklace. It was made of many links, yet they were all one piece.

"What is that?" Draco asked. It looked like a regular piece of jewelry, yet his hands itched to possess it. There was the sudden sharp tang of magic in the air.

"This is your freedom," she said.

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"It is an heirloom of the Malfoy family. It is supposed to work almost like a portkey and it will take you far away from here to safety." She ran the links through her fingers, caressing each one.

"What about you?" Draco asked with sudden suspicion. There was something in her expression he didn't like, a fatalism that made him nervous.

Narcissa smiled at him, tenderly. "Only someone with Malfoy blood may use it. And it may only be used by one person, one time. It was created as a just-in-case measure by your ancestors."

Draco shook his head. "No Mother, I couldn't leave you here. They'll kill you."

"I'm already dead," she said. "My life ended when the war started. You are all that matters to me. You are why I came here. I need to see you safe before I can finally rest."

Tears trickled down his cheeks. "But Mother..."

She pressed her fingers against his lips, silencing him. "You are all that I love in the world and I will see you safe. You will take this necklace and you will put it on. You will leave me here and you will make a better life somewhere far away. Promise me," she said. "Promise me you will be safe and happy."

He sniffled. "I... I promise."

Narcissa Malfoy smiled and it was beautiful and joyous. "My little prince." She held out the necklace.

He looked at it for a long moment, unable to move. She sighed and lifted the chain over his head, settling it around his neck.

"There," she said in satisfaction. "Now say aloud that you want to be taken somewhere safe and wish it with all your might."

"Mother..." he said, sobbing. If he went he would never see her again.

"Now, Draco," she commanded.

"I... I wish I was somewhere safe away from all of this," he said, and wished with all his might that none of this horror had ever happened.

Vertigo gripped him and he felt himself squeezed by incredible pressures.

Draco Malfoy disappeared with a POP.

And alone in the cell Narcissa cried from a mixture of happiness and grief. Her son was gone.

.


	2. Chapter 2

CHAPTER TWO

His head throbbed with pain and it was too hard to open his eyes. All he could do was lie there on the blessedly soft sheets-he hadn't felt such softness in so long, since a half-remembered dream where he was a schoolboy at Hogwarts learning about magic and the world and wanting more than anything to be just like his daddy. But that was a long time ago and he was here now.

"...obviously non-human blood... probably why he was targeted..." Voices floated over him, drifting into his brain like undigested soup.

"...severe sexual assault... signs of rectal trauma and physical abuse..."

"...signs of spell damage too... Cruciatus Curse... has a burn scar on his back consistent with a brush of fiendfyre..."

"...monsters would attack a boy like that... lucky to be alive..."

There were voices swirling all around him, echoing in and out until he honestly couldn't have said how many people were speaking. It made his head ache more and nausea pushed it's way up his throat.

He thought he might have moaned, but the feel of his own voice slamming into his head pushed him over the edge.

Blessed unconsciousness swallowed him back up.

.

The next time he woke, he felt much better, though he was very confused.

He stared up at the white-white ceiling for a long moment, blinking slowly as he just breathed his way back into his own skin. There was a faint noise next to him and he carefully turned his head to see a woman placing a tray of potions vials on the bedside table. From her outfit, he thought she might be some kind of nurse or something.

"Where... where am I?" he asked, his voice cracking dryly.

She smiled at him gently, pressing a straw between his lips. "Here, have a drink," she said, her voice soft and soothing. He sucked on the water until she carefully pulled the straw back, taking the glass away. His mouth worked for a few seconds as he tried to absorb every drop of moisture. "You're at St. Mungos. You've been unconscious for nearly fourteen days. Do you know who you are?"

He drew in a deep gasping breath and blinked hard. St. Mungos? How could he be in St. Mungos? The hospital had been destroyed nearly half a year ago.

"How am I here?" he asked. "I don't understand."

The nurse shook her head. "It's all right, dear," she said. "My name is Nurse Adelina. What is your name?"

He wanted to shout at her that she didn't have to talk to him as though he were a child, but he figured she was simply doing her job. Though how she could be doing her job here was a mystery.

"My name is Draco," he said, not adding a last name. Malfoys were definitely not well-loved by anyone but other members of the family, and then only for form's sake.

"Draco. Well, that's certainly a nice name. Everyone will be so happy to finally have something to call you other than Mystery Guest." She set the glass on the table with a dull clink. "I am just going to go call Healer Merryweather. He'll be happy to talk to you."

More than anything, Draco wanted to tell her not to be so cheerful, but he didn't get the chance. She'd already turned and left the room.

He growled low in his throat, seriously wondering what was going on. Everything was just so blurry in his memory, but he knew for sure that none of this was right.

He couldn't help the low whine that escaped his throat as he pulled himself into a sitting position. The healers had fixed his hurts, but two weeks lying in a bed hadn't done him any good. His very bones seemed to scream in protest at the idea of him moving, but he was persistent.

Draco looked around his hospital room. It was plain, but functional. Not the kind of thing he was used to as a scion of the Malfoy family, but if they didn't even know who he was, it was nicer than he probably deserved.

He choked on a laugh. If they knew who he was, what he was, they would chain him in a cell somewhere and he would never see the light of day ever again.

Just as he was about to completely lose control, the door opened and a tall, black haired man came in, his boot heels clicking softly. He had tanned skin and a robust appearance, as though he spent a lot of his free time with nature.

"Nurse Adelina tells me your name is Draco," the man said, closing the door behind himself. "I am Healer Danvers Merryweather and I have been assigned to your case. Do you know where you are?"

Draco nodded. "The nurse said I'm at St. Mungos. What happened to me?"

Merryweather sighed heavily. "You were found in Diagon Alley; you'd been badly injured. Do you understand?" Draco nodded, not saying anything. "The aurors have been investigating, but they haven't found any information about what happened to you. They think that you were dumped there in the middle of the night and that's why no one saw who did it."

"You seriously don't know who I am?" Draco furrowed his brow.

The healer frowned. "Should I?"

"I don't understand how you don't know who I am. The nurse had to ask me who I am, that's so strange. Shouldn't you know who I am?" Draco hated the whine in his own voice, hated the taste of tears in the back of his throat. He used to be more than this.

Merryweather's look was almost painfully gentle. "Son, something terrible has happened to you. Sometimes the brain tries to protect itself in mysterious ways."

"What do you mean?"

"You've been through a severe trauma." The man reached out a hand to brush Draco's hair back from his face, but only sighed and dropped his arm when Draco flinched away. He didn't know why he'd done that. "Whoever had you, hurt you very badly. We have seen signs of multiple curses and the traces of terrible damage. The aurors tried to find someone that has been missing you, but there hasn't been any response, which isn't so surprising what with the war."

"How can you not know who I am?"

"As I've said, you were found in Diagon Alley a fortnight ago." Merryweather knelt next to the bed, putting his head below Draco's, as though he was trying not to startle a wild animal. "Do you remember where you were and what happened to you?"

Draco looked at the man in disbelief. He thought that it was fairly obvious. Voldemort and the Death Eaters had made a game of him.

Seeming to take his silence as confusion, Merryweather sighed again. "I am very sorry about what I'm going to have to tell you, but it seems that someone tortured you for an extended period of time and there were fresh signs of sexual trauma. Some of the spells we removed from you were extremely nasty and might have caused you long-term damage."

"What spells?"

"Cruciatus residue was one of the worst, though there were some unfamiliar curses that we had to call a curse-breaker in to unravel. There were also heavy traces of what seemed to be inexpertly done Obliviation."

"What?" Draco was genuinely surprised. He didn't remember any Memory Charms, though he wouldn't if he'd been the victim. "Do you know what memories were affected?"

The man pursed his lips for a moment, his dark eyes trying to pierce through Draco's brain. "Do you know who hurt you?" he asked. "Do you know where you were and what was done to you?"

Draco just stared at him, wondering what was going on here.

"You were raped," Merryweather said, as though it was a shocking bit of information. He paused as though he thought Draco might burst into tears, then went on, "You were beaten and abused. You were cursed. The damage to your body was so extensive that if you had been completely human you would have died. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Draco whispered. He felt a shudder go through his body and didn't know why. He suddenly felt very vulnerable in the hospital bed. "That's probably why they did it to me. To keep me alive."

"What do you mean?" Merryweather asked.

Draco laughed, though maybe it was a bit of a cry too. "They made me into this so that I would heal all the damage they did so they could hurt me more."

"Made you into what?" The man was genuinely confused.

"This," Draco swept his hand through the air around his face. "They made me into a veela. They did this so the Dark Lord could hurt me and I'd heal right up again."

"The Dark Lord?" Merryweather stood up so abruptly that Draco couldn't help jerking back slightly. "You were being held by the Dark Lord and his followers?"

Draco scoffed. "Who else would have dared do such a thing to me? I understand that my father is dead, but I don't think that anyone else but the Dark Lord would dare touch a hair on my head."

"This is very serious." Healer Merryweather squared his shoulders. "You don't need to be afraid, you're far away from them. I just need to fire call the aurors now. They need to be here."

"Why? What good would they be?" With the Ministry destroyed, the remnants of the aurors were just fools fantasizing about bringing order back to the world.

"Don't be afraid," Merryweather said, nodding his head. "Grindelwald and his followers won't be able to reach you here. Just let me call the aurors and I promise you that your safety will be assured."

Draco just stared after the man as Merryweather hastily said he would be back and left in such a hurry that he didn't even close the door. Though all Draco could see beyond it was the plain hospital walls.

"Grindelwald?" Draco said. He slumped back in the bed. "What does he mean, Grindelwald? Just where the hell am I?"

There was no answer, just the the white-on-white stillness of his hospital room.

.*.*.*.

Even after he'd been called into her private room, he still found it hard to draw in a full breath.

"Here he is, sir, your son," the gentle faced nurse said, holding out the blanket wrapped bundle.

Charlus wasn't completely sure what to do with his hands, but she adjusted his grip so he held the baby safe and securely and didn't drop the newborn. He gazed down into that tiny, scrunched up face. It was both the ugliest and most beautiful thing he had ever seen before. "Hadrian," he breathed. "Hadrian Antares Potter. My son."

There was a breathy laugh from the bed and he looked up to meet the laughing dark eyes of his wife. Her face was drawn in lines of exhaustion, but there was also a look of smug self-satisfaction about her. "What a large name for such a small boy."

He grinned. "He'll grow into it," he promised.

Charlus gazed down at his son and felt his heart grow so large in his chest that it was a surprise he didn't die from the joy flowing through him. He had never known such perfect love before in his life, had never dreamed that such an all-encompassing feeling could ever exist.

He settled onto the chair that had been drawn close to his wife's bedside, holding the fragile young life carefully in his arms. It was so awe inspiring to know that he had helped create this wonder.

Dorea chuckled, a deep, earthy sound. "You look as though someone has struck you hard between the eyes."

"I feel like it too," he whispered, not wanting to startle Hadrian. Those curious brown eyes had looked around a couple of times before drifting closed, safe in the arms of an inexperienced father. "It must be hard being born."

"I think that it was harder for me than him," Dorea said, sounding amused.

Charlus looked up at her. "Thank you," he said. "Thank you for giving me a son."

"He's my son too, you know," she said.

"Yes, but I just felt like I should say something."

She laughed again, before yawning and relaxing back on her mound of pillows. "The pain potions always make me so sleepy."

"Then you should rest," Charlus said. "I'm just going to sit with him a moment longer."

"Can you go to the cafeteria and fetch me some sherbet?" she asked, her eyes falling closed seemingly against her will.

He chuckled. "You and your sherbet. Go to sleep, dear heart. I'll go fetch you some in a little while, I promise."

"Good," she murmured. "Make sure it's real, won't you? Whenever you try and conjure it, it always tastes so odd."

"I promise I will go to the cafeteria and demand real sherbet for my darling, exhausted wife. Now sleep," he ordered. "It will be here waiting for you to wake up."

She murmured some more, but there were no words.

Charlus went back to gazing at his brand new son.

.

It had taken him a good few minutes before he was able to tear himself away from his darling son. And he wouldn't have left him at all if the nurse hadn't come to take the baby back to the nursery. So he wandered down to the cafeteria to keep his promise to his exhausted wife.

He cajoled the kitchen staff into giving him a small bowl of orange sherbet and he thanked them profusely. Then he wandered his winding way back up toward the maternity ward.

It was only chance that he was walking toward a light yellow door when a healer came out and left it open behind him.

Not quite understanding why it was happening, his heart began to pound in his chest. The closer he drew to the door, the more he got the sense that something momentous was about to happen.

He drew even with the door and couldn't help looking in.

At first, it just seemed like another hospital room, definitely on the dreary side, especially when compared to the bright warmth of the maternity ward. His eyes were drawn to the only occupied bed in the room, the other still being neatly made up.

White-blond hair and milk pale skin. That was all he saw at first. The boy was wearing a hospital gown just as white as the sheets that covered him. There wasn't really anything interesting in the room, certainly nothing to have Charlus' heart thundering in his ears or his breath drawing quick in his throat.

Then the boy looked up and everything froze. He barely even felt it as the dish of sherbet slipped from his hands to crack on the floor, the spoon spinning down the hallway.

Silvery-gray eyes in a face so beautiful that whole choirs of angels would weep, but Charlus had seen amazing beauty before. This was something so far beyond "beautiful" that he didn't even have words to describe it, the only thing he knew was that it would destroy him.

The boy in the bed had an inhuman gleam to his skin, pearlescent and seamless, not a single pore showing to mar the utter smoothness of his flesh. His lashes were long and dark, much at odds with the color of his hair, and delicately brushed his damask cheeks with every blink.

He should have looked feminine, but he didn't. His face was too angular to ever be confused with a woman's, and though his neck was long and his form lithesome, his shoulders were broad and he certainly didn't look weak.

Charlus met those mesmerizing eyes head on and watched them widen and contract, first with surprise, then with some unnamed yet powerful emotion.

There was a sudden bright flare of light bursting from the boy's skin. It haloed him in power so strong that his hair stirred in an unfelt breeze. Charlus wondered if he should run away, but his feet seemed stuck firmly to the floor and he couldn't even find the strength to move.

A rope of pure energy unfurled, spinning out dreamily to twine around Charlus' hips. He glanced down at it, his mouth forming a soundless "o" and he could only watch dumbly as the light expanded and grew around him, bathing his stomach and thighs in gentle heat.

He looked back at the boy, saw him arching and tumbling back on the bed, his face wrought in lines of desire and gasping pleasure. He watched those long arms stretching over the boy's head as he trembled and jerked, his legs kicking beneath the sheets, sending them tumbling off the bed and exposing his bare feet.

The boy was everything. He was all that Charlus could see and desire. Without saying a single word, he stole Charlus' world from him and replaced it all anew until there was nothing else but him.

Just as the golden light covered him completely, Charlus remembered that feeling of joy he'd experienced just half an hour earlier when he'd held his son. And he felt just a touch of sadness, because he knew that the feeling this boy drew out of him was so much more than that.

What he felt roaring through him was beyond any words or comprehension. It was so powerful and compelling that he didn't even have the strength to know if he should try and escape from it. All he knew was that it was eating him up from the inside out, replacing every fiber of his being with a reflection of the beautiful boy in front of him until the boy was all that he knew.

Some voice deep inside was screaming at him, telling him he should fight it. He should rage and scream and try to battle his way to freedom. But it already possessed him body and soul until there was nothing left to do but wallow in overwhelming perfection and love. To wrap it around himself, breathe it in, bathe in the warmth of knowing he would never be alone again.

Somewhere, he heard his angel speak for the first time, that harmonious voice like music to his ears. "Bloody hell."


	3. Chapter 3

CHAPTER THREE

"I can't believe something like this could happen to me!" Charlus raked his hands through his hair. "What the hell am I supposed to do, Father? I'm married, I have a new baby, what can I do with this?"

Nigel Potter relaxed backward in his comfortable chair, crossing his legs urbanely. "If it's such an issue, why don't you simply ignore it and let St. Mungos figure out what to do with the boy? He should be no concern of yours, especially if you're going to ignore what's happened."

Charlus slammed his hand down on the table, his heartbeat throbbing across the vein in his forehead. "What are you suggesting? He's my soulmate, how can I turn away from that? It's one of the most powerful relationships of Wizarding kind. The minute I saw him I knew that he was the most important person in my life, so how am I supposed to ignore that? How can you think such a thing?"

Nigel waved his hand. "Then don't."

"What?" Charlus fell silent, staring at his father.

"You have been granted a great gift that very few can boast. Accept what magic and Fate have granted you. A soulmate Bond supersedes a marriage Bond, and you have just produced an heir. Dorea will either understand, or go her own way."

"It was a contracted marriage," Charlus said musingly, "and you did leave the usual soulmate clause in place. I am very fond of her, but ours is a more casual kind of love."

"So no matter how things work themselves out, you will find happiness." Nigel tipped his head, his dark eyes focused completely on his son.

Charlus smiled. "Thank you, Father. You always offer the best advice."

"I do try," Nigel said drolly.

. * . * . * .

The room was cold and lonely, but he had nowhere else to go. He felt far away from his own skin, his thoughts swimming lost and confused in his head. All he knew was that he didn't have any idea what he was supposed to do next.

He didn't know anyone, he didn't have any money, and to top it off, he'd been rejected in the cruelest manner possible.

One minute he'd simply been Draco Malfoy, then he'd seen Charlus Potter and it had felt like life had filled him for the first time ever. His skin had been warm and his heart had swollen fit to bursting and there had been music and light and he'd been happier than he'd ever been before.

He'd never realized how empty he was, not until all the hollow spaces of his soul had been filled with the presence of someone else. Someone that had sent him awash in ecstasies, only to turn around and leave him without a single word. The man hadn't even waited for him to wake up before rejecting him.

The forming of the soul bond had ripped through Draco, knocking him unconscious, but in some way he hadn't thought it was so bad. He had been held safe and secure, firm in the knowledge that he was never going to be alone ever again.

Then he'd woken to Healer Merryweather checking him over, telling him that Charlus had run out in white-faced terror, vowing never to return. It had felt like someone had stabbed Draco hard in the chest.

"I just don't know what that boy was thinking," Merryweather said, resting a hand against Draco's shoulder. "You have already been through so much, and to have him treat you like that on top of it all... It's utterly shameful."

Draco turned his face toward the wall. "Maybe it's just what I deserve."

"Why would you say such a thing?"

"Because I'm broken." Draco didn't say anything after that. He could hear people moving around the room behind him, but they were like shadows to his mind. He was drowning in a well of loneliness and there was no escaping that.

Charlus Potter, his impossible soulmate, had taken one look at him and simply known that he wasn't good enough. He had probably felt all the stains on Draco's soul and been so disgusted that he couldn't stay another minute.

The man hadn't even bothered to wait and tell him his name. Merryweather had had to tell him, otherwise he never would have known. Charlus would have left and Draco would have spent the rest of his life wondering who he had been and where he had gone.

He was so terribly empty inside.

Draco couldn't even be surprised about where he was or when he was. All color had been leached out of the world, taking curiosity, fear, hope, and all traces of happiness away from him. There was nothing left in him.

Too many shocks taking place too close together, then to be rejected by his soulmate...

Draco stared up at the ceiling and fought the sudden need to cry. More than anything, he wished his mother was here; she always knew what to do to make things right again.

But she was probably dead by now, and never mind the fact that in this time and place she hadn't been born yet. _His_ mother was dead.

He was alone.

.

His quiet misery was broken by the arrival of Healer Merryweather. Though he hated that the first thing the man did was give him a worried look.

Draco hated all of the concern he received. Hated that it had become part of his life to be a creature of pity. Because it hadn't always been like this; he just didn't know how to make it any better.

"How are you feeling?" Merryweather asked, laying a gentle hand against Draco's cheek. He moved with careful slowness, as though afraid of startling some wild animal. And maybe that was what Draco was now. Maybe he was some kind of wild animal; he certainly wasn't human anymore.

"I feel fine," Draco said, which was only partly a lie. They'd healed him to the point that he didn't hurt anymore at least. Not physically.

"That's very good." Merryweather clasped his hands together in front of himself. "You have a visitor."

Draco couldn't help the nervous jolt that went through him. There was no way the Dark Lord had found him, not in this world that insisted it was the past. "Who is it?"

"Charlus Potter."

Just hearing the name made joy burst through Draco, filling him up until he wondered if he was even breathing anymore. Then the resentment returned with the memory of rejection. "What does he want?"

"He would like to see you. I told him to wait until I'd spoken with you." There was so much understanding in the healer's gaze that Draco wanted to hit him. "I think that it's a good idea for you to see him. A soulmate bond is very powerful and it can cause you great damage to ignore it."

"But he doesn't want me!" Draco blurted, then winced. His voice had sounded too raw, too hurt for a Malfoy that was never supposed to show weakness in public.

"He would like to speak to you," Merryweather said. "I don't know what he has decided, but you _will_ need to face him to find out what he wants."

"Perhaps he wants me to be his concubine. He'll put me in a nice little house and I will be his deep dark secret from the world." Draco laughed a little hysterically. "It's fitting that I be reduced to this, considering how far I've already fallen."

"You haven't fallen anywhere," Merryweather stated firmly.

Draco plucked at his hair and gave the man a bleak smile. "Oh, but I think we will have to disagree on that, now that beast blood flows through my veins. I really have to wonder how human I still am, though it's impossible for me to gauge how much my mind has changed to match my body. After all, you never knew me when I was human."

"You are still human," Merryweather said.

Draco barely held in his snort of disdain. Healers and their sentimentality; it was the kind of weakness he would never allow himself.

Merryweather must have read something of his feelings in his face because he sighed heavily and reached for his case. "I have a few potions here that you should take now."

"Potions, potions, potions," Draco complained, "I think my blood runs with the potions you've been giving me."

"They are for your own good." Merryweather unstoppered something bubbly and green, vapors twisting and escaping with a truly noxious stench. "Drink it all."

Draco took the vial and squeezed his eyes tight shut and held his breath as he swallowed the potion down in one gulp. His throat burned with fire, but his stomach bubbled with cold and he burped up a cloud of pink smoke.

He sagged back on the bed, a feeling of weakness going through him. "Ugh, that was foul."

"Foul, but you will feel much better." Merryweather smoothed Draco's hair back from his forehead and pushed him down on the bed. "You don't need to sleep, but you should allow yourself to rest and heal."

There was something about the attention of a Healer that was irresistible to Draco. From the time he was a small and sickly child his mother had called the Healer for anything that might be wrong, even the smallest of things. Draco had developed a fondness for Healers as a defense, otherwise he would have spent a large chunk of his childhood being an incredibly miserable boy.

There was a soft knock at the door. "I will be right back," Merryweather said, going to answer it.

Draco sighed and sunk down further onto the bed, his hands picking at the sheets and blankets to settle them around himself more comfortably. He damned his traitor's heart for being uplifted by the thought of seeing Charlus bloody Potter.

"You're a fool, Draco," he whispered to himself. "Always falling for stupid Potters."

And there were no tears in his eyes or caught in his throat. There wasn't hopeless faith building up in his chest for Potters that always kept their promises - even the ones they didn't make themselves - and always came back even when it saw them dead in the end.

And when the door opened and Charlus came strutting in... Draco didn't see a different face superimposed. Younger, but harder at the same time, one tempered by a hopeless war and the knowledge that they had already lost decades before they were even born, failed by the adults that should have protected them.

Harry wasn't born yet. Narcissa wasn't born yet. Nobody Draco had loved was born yet. He was alone in the world, but the future was yet to be written.

He stared at Charlus' face and even though he knew it was futile, he let himself fall in love, just a little. Because in a world where he'd been left adrift, he needed something - _someone _- to hold onto or he'd disappear completely.

. * . * . * .

Silvery gray eyes looking at him out of a fine featured face, catching him up before he was completely over the doorstep. Charlus' breath escaped him in a shuddery gasp and he didn't know how he'd managed to stay away as long as he had.

The boy's name was Draco Malfoy, and from what Nigel had been able to find out, he _did_ have the blood of the Malfoy gens running through his veins, but it was buried deep beneath the veela cover. It was impossible to tell how closely Draco was related to the main branch of the Malfoy family, but it didn't much matter.

From what Nigel had said, the Malfoys had already washed their hands of the boy the minute they heard about his veela heritage. It was no longer fashionable to be so closely linked to non-humans, especially creatures as dangerous as veelas were, and Draco was nearly a full-blooded veela. It was just lucky he wasn't sprouting fangs and claws, and everyone knew the rare veela males were the more dangerous of the species.

Charlus had felt a bit of nervousness about a veela soulmate, but seeing Draco allayed those fears. He already had a son, so he didn't have to worry about irreparably polluting the Potter bloodline. He was free to love where he wished, and he was glad of that.

Because the moment he met those worried gray eyes, Charlus Potter was desperately in love.

"Hello, Mr. Malfoy. I am Charlus Potter," he said. He squared his shoulders and strode forward with all the grace he could manage.

He saw the way Draco's eyes ran up and down his body, taking in the exquisitely tailored blue silk robes that draped over his tall frame flatteringly. He had been told before that he was handsome and he did own mirrors, but it wasn't until he saw the approving tilt of Draco's finely drawn brow that Charlus felt as though he were anything more than presentable.

Charlus walked over to the side of the bed and tried to ignore the piercing look Healer Merryweather gave him as the man took up post on the opposite side. He kept his eyes on Draco, which wasn't exactly a hardship.

"You may call me Charlus," he said, holding out his hand.

Draco looked down at it for a long moment, then one side of his mouth turned up. "Deja vu," he said enigmatically, then reached out to clasp Charlus' hand.

There was a spark between them, an invisible current that ran up their arms and made Charlus gasp and his knees attempt to buckle.

He snatched his hand back after a moment, his breath coming quickly. His heart was pounding loud in his ears and arousal pooled in his lower belly.

"You're coming home with me," he said firmly. "You're coming home with me and we will be Bound forever and we will be happy and the entire world will belong to us."

Draco gave him a cool look, though his lips betrayed a slight tremble. "And what about your beautiful wife?"

Charlus shook his head. "That's why it's been so long for me to come back to you," he said. "My father had to gather the solicitor and there were several ceremonies that had to be done." He licked his lips. "Dorea is no longer a Potter. We've been divorced."

Draco's eyes went wide. "What?"

"Just so," Charlus said, his smile weak. "There was nothing else for it and she received quite the handsome stipend, but there was a soulmate clause in our marriage contract. The minute I accepted you, the marriage was void. She is a Black again."

"You... you accepted me?" Draco's voice cracked.

"Of course," Charlus said, as though there hadn't been a single doubt. "You are my soulmate and we belong together. Once you are cleared to leave the hospital, you will come home with me."

Charlus had never seen someone break apart before, but that was exactly what happened with Draco. His eyes went wide and glittery and his mouth fell open softly as his face just crumbled in on itself.

On Draco's second hitching breath, Charlus lost all self-control and reached out his arms to gather the younger man close against himself, hugging him the way that he deserved. He wrapped Draco up tight and listened to him sob and he didn't care as tears stained the shoulders of his robes.

He held Draco tightly and promised in his heart that he was never going to put that look on Draco's face ever again. They had only just met, but theirs was a Bond created out of magic by magic itself.

It was the kind of thing that wizards and witches dreamed of. The kind of thing that he had dreamed of as a child.

"It's all right. I have you," he murmured. "We'll go home soon."


	4. Chapter 4

b3yondimaginations - haha, I searched on Google after seeing your review, and you're right. Mine was the only Draco/Charlus story. First! :P

Belldandy55555 - I'd heard it before and the Harry Potter Wiki (pretty much) confirmed the idea that James wasn't the son of Charlus and Dorea. It's more likely that they were cousins.

Thanks to all reviewers.

* * *

CHAPTER FOUR

Potter Manor was nearly as fine as the Malfoy Manor where Draco had spent his childhood. He could barely remember those halcyon days - all the misery he'd experienced crowded out the rational portion of his brain - and all he had was the now. And right now he took one look at the large bed with the fine sheets on it and burst into tears.

Charlus had given him a room of his own and promised new clothes, and it felt as if something had broken loose in Draco's chest.

It had been so long since the world had been anything approaching normal. So to look at a bed and know he would be allowed to sleep on it... He was only vaguely embarrassed by his uncontrollable weeping. Mostly he just felt incredibly grateful, as though he were being given more than he deserved.

What had he ever done that he deserved a second chance at happiness?

"Oh, please don't cry." Charlus wrapped a strong arm around Draco's shoulder and drew him close.

Draco huffed a laugh. "Do you think I would be if I had any kind of emotional control? I don't even know why it started in the first place, so how am I to tell it to stop?"

Charlus made wordless crooning sounds that Draco supposed were meant to be soothing. Really, it was the warm presence of the soulmate bond that kept him from flying apart. He could feel it thrumming warm beneath his skin, promising that he would never have to be alone ever again. And some foolish part of him wanted to believe that everything would be better.

All he had to do was hold on and be strong, and someday happiness would creep back into him. The empty places would be filled and he would be able to smile again without feeling as though it were about to crack his face.

"Have I offended you somehow?" Charlus asked, holding him only far enough away to see Draco's expression. "I thought that you might like to have a place of your own, at least until we get to know each other better."

Draco fumbled with clumsy fingers to drag the handkerchief out of Charlus' front pocket. He mopped at his face, appalled by the amount of wetness seeping out everywhere. His cheeks had probably gone all red and blotchy.

"I don't know why I'm crying," Draco admitted. "The room is lovely and you were incredibly thoughtful to think of it. I just..." He shook his head. "I suppose I'm still in some kind of shock or something. It's very nice to be out of hospital."

Charlus was still giving him that tragic eyed look, as though he wanted to bundle him up and hide him away somewhere. "Perhaps you should rest," he gently led Draco toward the big bed, "I can send a house elf to wake you in time for dinner."

Draco wanted to object that he wasn't tired, he'd just gotten out of the hospital after all, but the sight of the bed was calling to him. He couldn't help wondering if it was as comfortable as it looked.

He reached out to trace his fingers over the delicate threadwork on the coverlet and the edges of the pillowcase. Someone had been thoughtful enough to provide magical wishes of sweet dreaming and safety. He would have protection as he slept; the nightmares would all be chased away before they could even start.

Wordlessly, Draco climbed up the two short steps onto the big bed. He laid on top, not ready to commit to covers, and it was so amazingly comfortable his eyes fell shut unprompted.

He hadn't even realized how exhausted he was.

Dimly, there was the feel of a kiss pressed against his cheek, then Charlus' sweet breath as he whispered, "Only good dreams."

There must have been magic in the wish, because the nightmares that had haunted Draco for years stayed away.

* . * . *

Even knowing that Draco had been abused in a most horrible manner, Charlus had to clench his fists hard at his sides as he strode away from the guest room.

The sight of Draco's tears had affected him more than he'd imagined and he wished desperately that there was someone for him to punish. But from what Healer Merryweather had explained, Draco's grasp on who had attacked him was rather shaky.

There was no doubt in anyone's mind that Draco had been targeted by the Dark Lord. Other than that, Draco's accounting of events was confused and made no sense. Healer Merryweather said it was the result of Confundus charms and improperly performed memory charms. It was only luck that Draco had survived all that had been done to him and with his mind intact.

The thought that Draco could have died before Charlus had ever met him was a disturbing one. The kind of thing practically guaranteed to keep him up nights brooding.

Charlus went down the stairs and headed to his father's study. He figured a glass of fire whiskey might clear his mind.

He still felt restless, his thoughts disturbed, though the warm burn in his stomach was somewhat soothing. Charlus flung himself backward in an armchair and cradled his glass in his hands. He stared down into the amber depths.

Things had not gone as smoothly as he'd led Draco to believe. Sweet reasonable Dorea had become a raging harridan when informed of the divorce, but there had been nothing she could do about it. Their Marriage Contract had been magically binding.

He did feel guilt about separating a mother from her newborn baby, but she had raised such a fuss that Nigel had put his foot down. There was no way the Potter heir would be in contact with such a corrupting influence, and never mind that Dorea was Hadrian's mother.

She had seemed an inch away from declaring a blood feud between their families. Her father had nearly dragged her from the room, his eyes blazing with a rage that only the honor of the Black family had him restraining.

Charlus had been sure they would be cursed, but his father had thought ahead. There had been two aurors in the meeting room, their wands open in their hands. The whole scene had been terrible and Charlus thought he would regret Dorea Black for all the days of his life.

He knew he'd seriously wronged her. But the bond connecting him to Draco was above all that and Charlus knew he would have done much worse to be able to keep Draco. Divorce was such a minor thing in comparison.

He drained the last of his fire whiskey and rose to pour another. He wondered when he should introduce Draco to Hadrian. The baby was in the nursery under the care of Jinxy, his house elf nanny. He would grow up wanting for nothing, just as Charlus had promised.

And Charlus would keep the vow he'd made in his heart and ensure that Draco was happy as well.

Draco had been hurt too much. Charlus would protect him from experiencing anymore.

* . * . *

It felt strange to Draco to wake up so refreshed. It seemed as though he'd been carrying invisible weights forever. Every time he turned around, his emotional burden would get heavier until finally he barely felt safe to breathe.

Sleeping on that luxurious bed in Potter Manor had allowed him to rest without dreaming. He felt safe with the knowledge that Charlus was nearby.

He gave the house elf that had wakened him a brisk nod and climbed out of bed. He walked to the bathroom to relieve himself and to straighten out his appearance.

There was a jolt of shock when he saw himself in the mirror until he remembered that his appearance had been changed. He had the phenomenal, inhuman beauty of a veela now. His hair was more lustrous, his eyes seeming larger and somehow mesmerizing, and his skin had a faint sheen to it.

He wasn't human anymore and it was something he would just have to get used to. As soon as he stopped flinching away from his own reflection.

"Stop being a coward," he ordered himself before stripping off his clothes and stepping into the large mosaic tiled shower. The water started itself, magically tuned to the perfect temperature.

He closed his eyes and lifted his face to the spray.

His world had been changed. He would deal with it.

.

When Charlus came for him, Draco was dressed and waiting. He may have been wearing borrowed robes, but with a few spells he'd learned from his fashion conscious mother he looked as though he'd been fitted by a proper tailor. From the lingering look Charlus gave him, he knew he'd done a more than respectable job.

"If you'll come with me, I will take you to dinner." Charlus held out his hand, his expression almost painfully sincere. Draco could see that he meant to take their relationship seriously.

It allowed some nervous part of him to relax and he was able to reach out and take Charlus' hand. There was a spark of awareness that jumped between their fingers and he couldn't help a faint laugh.

Charlus' expression was soft. "Come. You must be starving."

"Only a little," Draco said. He followed after Charlus down the winding staircase to the dining room.

He did pull Charlus to a halt outside the door. "Is anyone going to join us?" He dreaded the thought of people all around him, but he knew he'd be able fake it if he had some warning.

Charlus looked surprised for a second, then painfully understanding. Draco didn't think he could handle any kind of pity. Not now and perhaps never.

"It's just the two of us tonight," Charlus said. And that was all.

Draco followed him into the dining room where only two place settings were waiting. There was no sign of anyone else, only the house elf in the crisp Potter uniform jacket standing by.

Draco was able to breathe again. Though he couldn't help a little self-recrimination for his weakness, he forced all that away.

He needed to be pleasant company for Charlus. He wouldn't allow himself to be anything else.

While in hospital he'd had time to consider where he was supposed to go when he was let out, and no real answer had presented itself. He was alone in this world with no money or proof of his identity. There had been some thought of finding his relatives, but Draco had already realized the futility before anyone had even said a word.

He hadn't been surprised when the rejection letter had come from some long-named solicitor. Though no one from the family had personally seen him, the Malfoys of this era had already rejected him. He had unclean creature blood that wasn't generations removed - the family head had disinherited him the minute he'd been informed.

Draco couldn't blame the Malfoys. If he could have, he would have broken off contact with himself.

"You look as though you are pondering weighty subjects." Charlus raised a questioning brow.

"Nothing very important," Draco said in what he hoped was a smooth tone. "I feel much better after my nap. I didn't realize how tired I was until I lay down."

Charlus didn't quite fiddle with his silverware, but that was mostly due to strict manners. "As your soulmate, it is my duty and my pleasure to care for you." He leaned forward intently, his brown eyes locking with Draco's. "Please let me lavish you with attention. I wish to care for you as you deserve."

Draco could feel his cheeks heating and he didn't even think to break Charlus' gaze.

A soulmate bond was ridiculously powerful. Draco had never considered it before, but now that he was feeling it... He finally understood all of the fairy stories he'd once scoffed at.

He felt connected to Charlus. Tied to him so strongly that he couldn't see any way to escape. And didn't want to anyway.

Charlus made him feel safe. Just being able to look at him gave Draco the hope that everything was going to be all right. He just had to hold on.

* . * . *

He didn't know what he was supposed to say to this stranger that was the other half of him. It was new and awkward and Draco was so beautiful Charlus found his mouth going dry.

"Do you mind that you will be living here?" He didn't add the 'With me,' though he wondered.

Draco lifted his glass and sipped his sparkling water - there was to be no wine until Healer Merryweather proclaimed him healthy enough to no longer require potions. "I'm grateful to be here. If you hadn't opened up your home... I don't know where I would have gone."

"You certainly wouldn't have ended up on the street," Charlus said. He wouldn't have allowed it. Not for a single moment.

"Thank you."

What could have been an uncomfortable silence was broken by the arrival of house elves with the next course.

The food was delicious and offered them something to talk about. Mostly Charlus watched Draco and tried to ignore the way his heart expanded in his chest, trying to choke him with the wonder and joy.

"You will have to meet Hadrian," Charlus said. "He is in the nursery with his nanny."

"Har... Hadrian?" Draco asked.

"Yes, my son and heir. He is only a week old now." Charlus smiled fondly, thinking of the tiny pink baby.

"You have a new baby, yet you've divorced your wife for me?"

"There wasn't much choice. I offered to remain married, but Dorea has that Black pride and demanded all ties be severed." Charlus shook his head. "As the Potter heir, she won't be allowed contact with Hadrian to keep her from polluting his upbringing. It was her choice."

"I've ruined your life. I never should have come here," Draco said.

"No," Charlus stated firmly. "Before I met you I don't rightly think that I existed at all. You've ruined nothing and brought me happiness. As you are grateful to be in this house, I am doubly, triply grateful to have you in my life."

There was a delightful pink blush to Draco's cheeks and his pleasure was obvious.


	5. Chapter 5

Living through the war had left deeper scars than Draco had realized. There were things that made him jump in fright and it was only the magic in his sheets that let him sleep at all. It felt as though he was contracting in on himself, all the parts of him pulling away from his flesh to become shriveled and microscopically small.

The only thing that kept him from losing his control and screaming from the rooftops in the madness only a complete loss of everything could bring was the warm rush of the soulbond.

It tied him to the world, and his world was Charlus. Just knowing that he wasn't alone here was enough to let Draco pull himself out of the dark hole he could feel himself falling into.

And on top of everything else, there were things he kept finding out about his own body.

He'd known that he wasn't human anymore, that he was a veela, his blood something unclean and strange. But knowing and knowing were two very different things. He simply hadn't expected to feel so different, alien, and not just because of the changes in the mirror.

He had been changed on the inside too. The way he looked at things or reacted to things that happened in his life, it was all different. He was different. And it terrified him when he let himself think about it.

So he was relieved that Charlus never gave him a chance to brood. He was constantly pulling Draco after him, urging him to get involved with different things in this new life. And Draco really tried.

It made him particularly pleased to realize that he was fond of Hadrian. The little squashed looking baby found a place in his heart and grew there, becoming more of a person everyday. And Draco found himself loving he baby as his very own and it was completely natural.

As anchors to this new and strange life, Charlus and Hadrian did a good job.

They gave him a reason to keep going forward day by day. He was grateful for that, as he had nearly given up the idea of experiencing new tomorrows.

He was actually very surprised by how natural Hadrian felt in his arms and by how comfortable he was listening to that little voice. Raised an only child, he had been sure that babies were nothing he wanted anything to do with. Except Hadrian was adorable and laughing and just having him nearby forced Draco to remember at all moments that he was alive.

The future spun out unwritten, and it was his duty to ensure that Hadrian saw as much of it as possible.

"I won't let the bad man get you this time," he whispered against Hadrian's downy head, the soothing scent of powder filling his nose. Hadrian was a warm weight in his arms, already gaining solidity even after a few months of life.

Draco wasn't completely certain about the history of the Black family, but he was sure that Hadrian Potter had died before he was twenty-seven years old at the hands of the Dark Lord. He was one of the reasons that James Potter had been so fierce in his convictions that Voldemort be stopped.

"I see that my grandson already has you wrapped around his finger."

Draco didn't jump. He turned to look at Nigel Potter-another of the Dark Lord's victims-and smiled. "He's a surprisingly well-behaved baby. I always thought that they cried all the time and there would be no reason to bother with them, but Hadrian is a remarkably good baby."

"He is a Potter." Though he came across as coldly urbane in the company of outsiders, amongst family-which he seemed to consider Draco as his son's soulbond-Nigel was hearty and robust. He was filled with family loyalty and already Draco could tell that there wasn't anything Nigel wouldn't do for the good of the Potter line.

It made Draco wistful for the man Lucius could have been. The man he'd thought his father was when he was a child and the world hadn't looked quite so hopeless and dark.

"Charlus told me that you wouldn't go with him today," Nigel said, coming to stand close to the rocking chair where he could gaze down into Hadrian's face.

Draco's shoulders wanted to hunch in on themselves, but he held himself still. "I didn't think I was ready yet to leave the house. Too many people around makes me feel uncomfortable. I didn't want to be bad company."

Nigel frowned. "You have spoken to that healer of yours since you left hospital, haven't you?"

"Yes. He says it's only a matter of time. I've been visiting with the mind healers once a week." He hated the sessions, but he knew that they were something he needed. Even with all the truths he was hiding, he still needed help to straighten out the tangle living in his head.

"Good. We need to make sure that they're doing the best that they can for you," Nigel said. "You are a member of the Potter family now. You will be treated with respect."

Draco jiggled Hadrian lightly. "Thank you for taking such good care of me." He meant it too. Considering the way his life had gone, he wouldn't have been too surprised to end up in some flop house in Knockturn Alley. Instead he was welcomed at Potter Manor and somehow he'd been given Charlus and Hadrian.

"It was the least we could do." Nigel brought his wand out and with a quick flick conjured a stuffed white rabbit that he wiggled in front of Hadrian.

Draco wanted to point out that even though Hadrian was obviously a brilliant baby, he was still just a few months old. It would be a while yet before he would start caring about toys or anything else. Draco bit his tongue instead and watched Nigel attempt to entertain his grandson.

It made him wonder what his life would have been like if his grandfather had lived. From what he understood-true facts, not the fairy stories he'd been fed growing up-Abraxas had been a fierce and powerful man. He never would have bowed down to a lord; though he might have hung around one as an equal.

Draco thought about going to meet the Malfoys. They were his family, even if most had been killed before he was born. He was curious to visit these living leaves on the soon-to-be-withered Malfoy family tree. Knowing them, though, he would rather stay away and remain free of curses.

That was the most difficult thing he faced, being back in time. There were so many things that he could try and change, but he honestly didn't know what he rightfully should do.

It had taken him years to become mature enough to start thinking for himself. Torture and prison had been a harsh impetus to get him to finally grow up. And somewhere along the way he'd absorbed the idea that while the Dark Lord had made things impossibly worse, there had been deeper problems simmering for years.

The magical world was dying, it was a sad fact. Magical species were disappearing, and the gap between Muggle and Magical was an ever widening one.

He would never fully understand the idea behind Muggle technology, but he'd been there during Hermione's discussions with Harry. Huddling in an abandoned house like rats, listening to them had been his only source of entertainment.

He hadn't understood a lot of the terms, but he'd gotten the gist of what they were saying and it had made an impression. Enough that while he had been sent back in time, his first impulse hadn't been to go find the Dark Lord and kill him. And it wasn't because he'd gone soft and Voldemort was currently the sad orphan Tom Riddle.

What held him back was the thought that it would do no good. The Wizarding World was on the brink of a revolution-either to step forward to match the Muggles, or stick to tradition-and Voldemort had simply taken advantage of the opening. And if not him, some other Dark Lord would have appeared.

It was inevitable, and the only thing he could do to stop it was to change Society. An impossible task for an inexperienced time traveler.

Draco looked down at Hadrian in his arms. The tiny pink baby with a thatch of black hair on his head shouldn't have to grow up in a world at war, and neither should any of the other babies out there. They deserved to live without Dark Lords and dementors, in a world without the nightmares of Draco's childhood.

"You should get out of the house today, even if it's just for a walk," Nigel said. "It's not healthy that you remain cooped up inside."

Draco looked into the man's concerned eyes. "That's a good idea. I'll take Hadrian on a walk in the gardens after lunch."

Nigel patted him on the knee. "Good. You need a little sun on your cheeks."

Draco smiled. Sunlight to banish away the shadows living in his head. He lived to hope that someday all of the shadows of future-past would disperse into nothing, and he would be the only one to ever have experienced such a dark future.

Hadrian would grow up innocent and the world would be a better place.

"Yes."

* . * . *

All of his life he had thought that he was happy, but it was only now that Charlus knew what happy truly was. Because every day that he could feel the warm rush of Draco's presence in the corner of his mind was a good one.

There was no loneliness with a soulbond, he found. He had Draco as a constant sense of warmth, and as a result he went through his days with a besotted smile and a lightness to his step.

He might have been embarrassed about his foolish sense of happiness, but he couldn't find it in himself to care what anyone else thought. He'd found the other half of himself, and though he pitied all those lonely souls out there, he had Draco and that made him feel lighter and more whole.

Everyone already knew that he'd found his soulbond. There had been a tasteful article in the Daily Prophet and people were already angling for invites to his Bonding Ball. He'd put them all off so far, as he didn't want to arrange something that would make Draco uncomfortable.

It upset Charlus to feel the echo of Draco's fear whenever there were too many people around. Even with all of Charlus' reassurances, Draco still worried that the Dark Lord would come for him.

Charlus had never had much concern about Grindelwald and his followers. They were far away and their reach didn't quite extend to the shores of Britain. Except now he had Draco in his life, and the knowledge that someone he knew and loved had been so devastatingly hurt ... It filled Charlus with a sense of outrage.

For the first time in his life, Charlus knew what his father meant when he spoke of protecting the interests of people he loved. Because he wanted to protect Draco and defend him. He wanted to take all of the pain out of Draco's eyes until only happiness was left. And if he could have brought Draco's mother back to him alive and well, he would have done that too.

It pained him that there were some things he simply could not do for Draco. There were some shadows that simply could not be lifted.

Draco had been tortured and nearly killed. It was only luck and his perseverance to survive that had kept him alive and allowed him to escape.

If things had gone just a little differently, Charlus never would have had the chance to meet Draco. He would have gone through the rest of his life never knowing what he was missing, and somehow the idea of it made something in his chest ache.

It was a sharp pain digging through him. The idea that he might never have met Draco would have meant going through his entire life with an empty space resounding through him. A space that never would have been filled, and Charlus wouldn't have even known what he was missing, who he was desperately wishing to see. He would have lived and died and never known how empty everything was.

Resolve growing in his chest, Charlus didn't hesitate to step up when his name was called. Hundreds of eyes all focused on him, curious about what issue he was so desperate to bring before the Wizengamot that he was willing to proxy the Potter seat, something he had always shied away from before. He'd never had a political bone in his body and he'd fought to keep his freedom as a carefree scion of a wealthy family.

But Draco was important, and just having him around had built up a desire for justice in Charlus' chest. He needed to make sure that Draco would be kept safe from any harm. He needed to stop Grindelwald and his followers from coming around and taking Draco back to the torments they wanted to inflict.

"There has been a great injustice," Charlus started, gripping the sides of the podium with both hands to stop their nervous tremble. He'd never been fond of public speaking, but this was something that needed to be done. "Our world has allowed an evil force to flourish in the shadows, and we've only made excuses for the wrongs being done. Wizards and witches have been tortured and killed, and we are all guilty of standing by and letting it happen. We are all guilty, but I refuse to be guilty any longer. I refuse to watch as our world falls apart around us."

Draco hadn't spoken a lot about what the Dark Lord had done to him, but he hadn't needed to. Charlus could feel the shattered wounds inside Draco, the raw places that still seeped with pain and fear, and though Draco hadn't outright said the words, Charlus knew that he was afraid of being captured again, of being hurt more.

So Charlus would do what he could to protect Draco, and part of that involved changing the world. Because if Charlus stood up in front of the Wizengamot and spoke the right words, he might be able to put an end to Grindelwald's reign of terror. And if there was no Dark Lord, there would be no one to hurt Draco ever again.

I will protect you, Charlus vowed. His eyes went steely with resolve and his voice rose and fell in the practiced cadences he'd learned from his father. He was young and handsome and there wasn't a single wizard or witch in the room that hadn't given him an admiring glance at some point in his life.

He was Charlus Potter and he loved Draco Malfoy enough to stand up and proclaim it in the best way possible. By destroying Draco's enemies and keeping him safe.

He didn't even mind that his careless days were over and he would never again be able to step out of the public eye. He was no longer a boy, but a man.

* . * . *

Draco was lying curled around Hadrian's pajama clad form on the low-set child's bed. The lights had been dimmed and there was a night light mobile projecting autonomous shadows that danced and capered on the walls. The only sound was Hadrian's puffing breaths and Draco's toneless humming.

He had closed his eyes and his head felt like a peaceful place for once. The sweet baby smell of Hadrian soothed some primal instinct he hadn't realized he possessed.

There was a soft sound and he had his wand up and pointed at the door with a protego half-formed when he recognized the feel of Charlus and relaxed with a sigh. "Sorry. My paranoia got away from me."

Charlus still looked surprised at how fast Draco had drawn his wand, but he smiled. His movements smoothed into something nearly languorous. "You don't need to apologize for being able to protect my two beloveds."

"Two?"

"You and Hadrian. It makes me happy to know that you love Hadrian so much. That you would protect him," Charlus said.

Draco's lips pinched. "It makes me happy when I see you. I love Hadrian for himself."

Charlus crossed the floor in a quick sweep and was kneeling beside the bed before Draco could blink. He pressed the palm of hand against Draco's cheek , his thumb tracing the pale eyebrow. "I try to imagine what my life would have been like without you in it, and I can't picture it. There was no life before you. The world was all shadows and numbness, and it took you to realize what it could all be like. And that's why I've done this for you."

"Done what?"

Charlus leaned close, so close that Draco was staring straight into his hazel eyes from inches away. "I know you are afraid that Grindelwald will come for you again. I know that you have night terrors, because the house elves trap them in your sheets to spare you the memories. I know that more than anything you want to stay here with me. That's why I've done it."

He paused long enough that Draco cocked his head impatiently. Charlus looked almost in a daze, his pupils burst wide and his lips wet from his nervous licking.

"I spoke to the Wizengamot a few weeks ago and I've put in several petitions and letters of intent. I've spoken to people from the Left and the Right, and I've even opened contact with the nearest veela settlement. And tonight it finally went through."

"What did?" Draco asked.

"We've declared war against Grindelwald. He and his followers have been declared Anathema and will not be allowed into Great Britain. The wards will fry them if they try. None of them can come here." Charlus' voice lowered to a whisper breathed directly into Draco's ear. "You're safe."

Draco nearly wanted to cry. Charlus was trying so hard to make him happy. It didn't even matter that it had resulted in the wrong Dark Lord being targeted.

He wrapped his arm around Charlus and held him close for a long moment, careful not to crush the sleeping Hadrian. "You are a very beautiful man, did you know that?"

Charlus flushed, visible even under the flickering light of the spinning mobile. He brought his face closer and Draco's breath caught. Their lips touched, a gentle lingering kiss that didn't try to become anything more.

Charlus had spoken to the mind healers. He could feel Draco's unrest. And even though he could have demanded so much and gotten it, he'd been sweet in his wooing.

Draco had never been Courted before. It was one of those old fashioned things that had fallen out of favor. He'd had sex with Harry and Blaise, one his first and the other his last, and both relationships had been full of quick fumbling encounters. With Blaise there'd been no chance to linger because they were both in the midst of escorting their fiancees around; Astoria had died before the wedding, leaving Draco single while Blaise had married and largely disappeared. Harry had happened because he'd refused to die without at least once gorging himself on sex and life. They'd fucked in-between missions. Then Harry had died.

Charlus was different though. He treated Draco as though he were special, and he'd begun the official Courting steps with no doubt that he wasn't going to want anyone else in his entire life. That amount of raw faith was astonishing to Draco; more because it was faith in *him*.

Harry had been the closest thing he'd had to a real romantic love. Yet even Harry had doubted him. He'd gotten used to that askance look whenever he suggested anything that sounded even remotely like it could secretly be some kind of trap. Harry hadn't meant to hurt his feelings with that look, but it had burned its way into Draco's mind that no matter what he did or who he became, people were always going to look at him as his father's son. He was Draco Malfoy.

He'd become used to being distrusted. He'd also become used to living in squalor and being hunted down like a rat. It didn't mean he enjoyed any of it.

So to see Charlus looking at him with such love while treating him like he was someone precious... He was reminded of his dreams of romance, of being the center of someone's world, the beloved to be protected.

Maybe it should have bothered him that even now he was still waiting for someone else to save him. Mostly he was just dazzled by the love he saw reflected in Charlus' eyes and he couldn't help it that his smile was a bit besotted.

"I'm starving. Would you like to have dinner with me out on the balcony?" Charlus asked.

Draco thought about watching the sun set and the moon rise while sharing a meal with this man that professed to love him. It made him feel powerful and happy at the same time, as though Charlus made him better just by existing. "I would be delighted. Let me just settle Hadrian."

"I'll help you." Charlus' breath was warm against the back of his neck and Draco thought he felt a ghostly impression of a kiss though he couldn't be sure. All he knew was that he was happy.


	6. Chapter 6

It was strange how quickly time moved when he was happy. The days of torture and despair had seemed to drag on forever, thousands of years compressed in upon him until he couldn't breathe. But now that he was full of the joy of living, time flew so fast it made his head spin.

Charlus had accepted a position at the Ministry and was quickly climbing up the ranks. Something to do with his inherent Potter charm and his sheer determination to succeed. It made Draco's chest warm to realize that Charlus was doing everything he could to see him happy.

Hadrian was growing everyday, and at two years he was a laughing, talking child. He was no longer a baby but a toddler, inquisitive and full of Potter charm.

That Potter charm. Draco had completely fallen for it, and he didn't even try to catch himself. He wanted to fall and fall forever, until he was bound so tightly to Charlus that they could never be parted. And that's how he knew he was in love.

The sex was literally magical, with his veela powers resulting in scorch marks across the ceiling as he had some of the greatest orgasms of his life. He and Charlus were quick to discover that his veela affinity to flame manifested sometimes when he ejaculated. Charlus had invested in flame-proof paint and furniture polish. He'd also learned to duck when Draco's hair started whipping around in a metaphysical wind storm. There were usually a few small fireballs that flared to life just above Draco's head and shot off in unguided directions as he released.

Draco had spoken to some healers in the veela community and he'd learned a lot about his new species. Like that male veela were extremely rare due to wizards hunting them for sport. Female veela could reproduce asexually in the wild and a first generation cross breed with humans was mostly veela, so the loss of most of the males hadn't wiped out the veela race, but it had been a near thing.

It was strange to read books about veela and think that they were talking about him. He was a veela. He was one of the "creatures" they wrote of like a wild beast or something to be studied in Care of Magical Creatures. Charlus would hold him when he had his inevitable bouts of hysteria and Draco was so glad not to be alone in the world.

He had Charlus and he had Hadrian, and Nigel was a presence that passed in and out. He was unable to force himself to build much of a life outside of Potter Manor, but he attended social events with Charlus and he didn't become a complete shut in.

It was just that every time he saw a crowd of people, after a length of time he began to see skulls where faces should be and his mind insisted on flashing terrible memories at him. There were just too many strangers wearing familiar features running around, and he simply couldn't stand the thought that nearly every single one of these people was going to die at the hands of Voldemort and his followers.

The only thing that protected him from his horrible visions was Charlus' presence. As long as Charlus was there, Draco could gain strength from their soul bond and hold his position without running away in terror. He borrowed from Charlus' strength and it ate away at his loneliness.

He was happy. Happier than he'd been since before he'd started at Hogwarts. Before he'd been dragged into a war between two powerful men and the society they nearly destroyed between them.

He'd gone weird the first time he ran across Albus Dumbledore. Even with the auburn hair and the much younger face, Draco had taken one look at the man and it had felt as though he were being squeezed tight between two giant blocks of ice. Charlus had managed to extract him from the situation and Draco had come back to himself in his bed at Potter Manor. He'd noticed that Charlus purposely seemed to arrange things so he never met Dumbledore after that, and he was quietly grateful.

Then one day he was in Diagon Alley with Charlus, Hadrian dangling between them by his little hands. Hadrian was happy to be lifted up and down, his legs bunching as he pushed off with his small feet, jumping as high as he could go.

They were a young family enjoying the beautiful weather. Two tall men in expensive robes with a laughing child between them. They received admiring glances wherever they went and there were many people that wished they could know Charlus Potter or *be* him. He was one of the most popular scions of any of the noble families and his husband was said to be a legendary beauty.

The sun was shining and Diagon Alley was full of people. It was an absolutely beautiful day and Draco was relaxed into his happiness, it was something he had become used to. He'd stopped flinching at every sound and peering over his shoulder. He'd begun to believe that this wonderful life was real and his and the nightmare was over.

Then, the crowd seeming to split around him, Draco saw the face of death.

The man was the kind of handsome that effortlessly drew the eye, but when Draco looked at that face it was something completely different that he saw, humanoid and snakelike wrapped up in one, dark and cruel. The Tom-mask he wore now wasn't real; Voldemort was real, blazing red eyes and cruel hands that took everything good out of the world.

Draco gasped, the view of Diagon fading to shadow. In front of him grew the image of the last time he'd seen Harry. The upended bed and Harry's body still wrapped in the sheet he'd grabbed to cover his nakedness, the shattered splinters of his wand peppering what was left of his skin, everything else red-red and white chunks of bone and the burned ruin of his chest still bubbling and steaming.

Sweat burst out all over Draco's body and he drew in a shuddering gasp as he returned to the present and focused on the man down the street. Or boy really, still just a teenager, probably a few years younger than Draco and not settled into the evil that he would become.

It seemed strangely natural that a haze would settle over his mind, staring at that beast in human form, and he felt something stirring in his own heart. Something as natural as breathing that pressed back against the metaphysical pressure that Tom Riddle exuded, that pushed and pushed until something finally broke free and it was like tearing the scab off of some infected wound, ripping it free and letting the pus and sickness ooze out.

It hurt-oh *Merlin* did it hurt-but it was worth it to be able to feel clean again.

There was a reason why male Veela, rare though they were, had been Culled so heavily by the Ministry of Magic and why even in modern Wizarding times they were still relegated to the Reserves. They were dangerous, not just up close with fang and claw and fire, but from a distance.

He could nearly see it rising up from behind him, a scorpion tail with an acid dripping stinger, swaying side-to-side before lashing forward effortlessly.

The stinger plunged into Tom Riddle's heart-a sharp impact-and Draco felt a strange pulsing sensation as his Essence spurted into the man. It was somewhat like an orgasm, a rush of pressure relief, but it was an angry thing, angry and vindictive.

Voldemort raped Draco, Draco raped Tom Riddle. It was something like justice, though twisted and sad.

Tom clutched his chest, and even through the crowd of people between them, Draco knew down to the bone what he had done and it felt perfectly right. And when Tom raised his head and his eyes came naturally to Draco's own, Draco bared his teeth in a fierce grin of victory. Those dark eyes were blown wide and there was a shattered expression on that handsome face as he looked at Draco, silently begging.

Then Draco turned away, reaching down to pull Hadrian's small body up into his arms and smiled at Charlus. "It's too busy here today. Let's go home," he breathed.

Charlus looked surprised, but gave him a smile. "All right. If that's what you want."

Draco let some of the darkness creep into his eyes and his smile went a bit quirky. "It's definitely what I want." He could feel desire coiling in his belly and through their Bond he knew Charlus felt it too, a tinge of pink crawling up Charlus' neck as his breath went a little fast.

They Apparated home and Draco didn't spare a single glance back at the ruined Tom Riddle.

* . * . *

It was strangely easy to fall completely in love with a person like Draco. To love him so much that it felt right to protect him at all costs, even from himself.

Two years they'd been together. Two entirely wonderful years where Draco had slowly but surely begun to heal from his traumas and the light had returned to his eyes. There'd been a few bumpy spots along the road, but they were all things Charlus could deal with.

He ensured that Draco was never alone in a crowd of people, knowing that it could result in one of Draco's panic attacks. It was wrenching to see the animal madness fill Draco's eyes as he gave into his terror completely. Sometimes Draco hurt himself in his desperate attempts to escape, and Charlus refused to see him hurt.

It was the same reason why he kept Professor Albus Dumbledore away from Draco. He figured the teacher reminded Draco of one of Grindelwald's followers or something, someone that had hurt him terribly. Because Draco had taken one look at Dumbledore and his face had gone dead white, his lips bloodlessly gray. He'd stood there, staring, then all the light had faded out of his eyes and it was as though his mind completely fled his body.

Charlus had never been so terrified in his life as he was that night. He'd gotten Draco home and called in a healer, but there had been nothing physically wrong with Draco. He'd simply been reminded of something so traumatizing that his mind had shut down. It had taken nearly a week for him to come out of it, and he'd blinked and started talking and it hadn't taken Charlus long to realize Draco hadn't even realized how long he'd been "gone" for. To Draco it had only been a few hours.

Draco had been damaged. It was a fact, one that Charlus well recognized.

Draco had been damaged, and somewhere inside he was still bleeding, still an open wound. He was slowly healing, slowly filling back up with spirit and life, but his was a very fragile state. Charlus *had* to protect him.

So when they were walking through Diagon Alley on their way to buy Draco a new cloak, Charlus knew from Draco's quick changing expression that something had happened. But he'd agreed with Draco and they'd gone home and the evening had progressed as usual and he thought that maybe he'd been wrong.

Until he was working at the Ministry late one evening and he'd overheard a group of secretaries gossiping in the break room. They were all young, a few of them just out of school, and it was their younger member reporting that she'd gotten an owl from her sister and something terrible had happened to the Head Boy.

He'd been granted special leave to visit Diagon, and someone had hit him with a mysterious spell while he was on his trip. It was almost like Amortentia, but it had seemingly driven him mad. He was a gibbering wreck and they'd locked him away in St. Mungos.

"And the strangest part is what he keeps yelling," the young woman said. She was encircled by a fascinated group.

"What's he yelling?" a male Ministry aid asked.

"He's yelling that he needs his silver haired god. And he keeps trying to cut out his own heart to give to him."

There were gasps and murmurs. "Who ever thought that Tom Riddle could fall for someone like that?"

"He's always so cold!"

Charlus moved away from the group before he could be noticed. He was much too senior to be caught listening in on their conversation, never mind that some of them were older than he was.

He felt chilled to the bone, a dark foreboding rising up in his chest.

He didn't know how he knew, but he knew that whatever had happened to Tom Riddle had something to do with Draco. He *knew* it

He didn't know what tied Draco to a schoolboy, but Charlus would find out. Then he would protect Draco from anyone or anything, including Draco himself.

He wouldn't allow Draco to be thrown in Azkaban. If Draco was becoming a danger to the public, then Charlus would take him away to the country and they would live a quiet life. He would find a way to be happy.

He refused to lose Draco.

* . * . *

There seemed to be a question hovering around Charlus. For long weeks it seemed as though he desperately wanted to ask something. But he never voiced the question and Draco never had to answer and their lives moved on.

Draco realized that he had done a terrible thing. It would have been a kindness to have just killed Tom Riddle, rather than to have Ensnared him in such a manner. Riddle would sink into the madness of his Longing and eventually he would fade away like a bug drawn too close to the light. And for every moment he was without Draco, Tom Riddle would suffer unspeakably until he would be begging for death.

It was cruel, and Draco felt satisfied that he had done it. For all that he would do, Lord Voldemort should suffer. And in the end, lives would be spared.

"Are the muggles losing their war?" he questioned one morning at the breakfast table.

Charlus was reading the newspaper, a plate of buttered toast forgotten before him. "It seems so."

"I heard that the Dark Lord is helping the Germans. I don't think it's right that he's able to do that unopposed. Isn't there anyone that can stand up against him?"

Charlus lowered his newspaper enough to look at Draco. "You're very interested in this. I would have thought you would have just seen it as a muggle war."

Draco shrugged and lifted his fork. "It was fine when it was simply a muggle war, but when wizards are involved... It's not just a muggle war then, is it? It just doesn't seem fair the way the muggles can't stand against weapons charmed by wizards." He took a bite of sausage and chewed with his mouth closed, his eyes locked on Charlus.

The thoughts were visibly moving behind Charlus' expression as he worked his way through his mental processes. Then he grunted and gave a little nod. "You are absolutely correct. The muggles deserve a level playing field against those, what are they, Nazis. I'll discuss things with some people."

Draco smiled and went back to eating his breakfast. Charlus was good about making things right again. He wouldn't know what he was doing, but he would correct the mistake Draco had made with the timeline and get Britain's wizards back into the fight against Grindelwald.

Because Charlus was a good man and he would always try his best to make the world a better place.

* . * . *

Life was too good for him to ask questions he really didn't want to hear the answers to. He refused to open his mouth and ruin everything, not when Draco had looked so peaky.

Charlus refused to do anything to remove Draco's smile.

So he had run a few careful queries about Tom Riddle. Nothing to catch anyone's attention, but there were just some things he needed to know to satisfy his own curiosity. He promised himself he would stop if there was any chance that Draco would be found out.

Not that Draco had done anything bad. There was no way he could have done anything to see him sent to Azkaban.

Charlus winced away from the thought of Draco being tormented by dementors. It was never going to happen. *He* wouldn't let it happen.

It scared him sometimes. He would be going along perfectly fine with his life, so happy that his heart felt about to burst, then it would be like the whole world flipped sideways. It was as though he were looking at his life from the corner of his eye, and he couldn't help realizing just how fragile it all was. How easily it could be taken away.

He would become terrified of losing Draco. Something would happen, and everything that made him happy in the world would be ripped away. He would be left wailing and writhing in the dirt with nothing to hold him up and no one who could help him.

He was wrapped tight in Draco. There was no doubt about that.

Soulmates. Two halves of one whole, or perhaps a Yin and a Yang; and if that were true, then Draco held all his strength, because he felt weak to the idea of being alone. Just the thought made him want to crumble into pieces.

He loved Draco and could not lose him. So Charlus would do anything he had to, to keep Draco in his life. He would rob and kill and change the laws of the world around just to keep Draco safe and with him. Because he was too weak to be alone and refused to even consider it.

Charlus quietly made his inquiries about Tom Riddle's condition, and to distract anyone from noticing what he was doing, he made a patriotic speech here and there. He stirred up ideals of wizarding pride and handling their own kind. And somehow the mood of the people shifted, and Britain's wizards went to war against the Dark Lord because it was the right thing to do. Justice for all.

And the world changed, but all he cared about was what he was going to do to protect Draco. Because Tom Riddle had been veela struck, and it wouldn't take long for someone to put things together.


End file.
